Just a line to say I'm living, that I'm not among the dead.

Though I'm getting more forgetful and mixed up in the head.

I got used to my arthritis, to my dentures I'm resigned.

I can manage my bifocals, but God I miss my mind.

For sometimes I can't remember when I stand at the foot of the stairs

If I must go up for something, or have just come down from there.

And before the fridge so often, my poor mind is filled with doubt,

Have I just put food away, or have I come to take some out.

And there's time when it is dark with my nightcap on my head,

I don't know if I'm retiring, or just getting out of bed.

So, if it's my turn to write you, there's no need for getting sore,

I may think that I have written, and don't want to be a bore.

So, remember that I love you, and wish that you were near.

But now it's nearly mail time, so must say goodbye, dear.

There I stand beside the mailbox, with a face so very red.

Instead of mailing you my letter, I have opened it instead.